Third Grade
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: Successful entry for the NFA School Challenge. Preseries. Tim's third-grade year. Just a little sappy oneshot. Enjoy!


**A/N: **Written for the NFA School Challenge. We had to take a character and write a story from one of their elementary teachers' point of view. I chose Tim in third grade.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own NCIS...and it's really a shame because I like it so much.

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**Third Grade**

_June 1, 2007_

It's been a long year. I'm really getting too old for this job. There were some ups and downs, but overall, quite successful. I look around the now-empty classroom and remember another year and the two students who helped me relearn why I love teaching.

_August 1, 1985_

I sighed as I looked through my class list for the year. I really didn't want to have Timothy McGee in my third grade class. It's not that he's a troublemaker. He's a sweet-tempered little boy with loving parents, and from what I'd heard through the grapevine, another sibling on the way. No, the problem with him was figuring out just what to _do_ with him because last year at least, according to Becky Brighton, he was light years ahead of his classmates. She recommended moving him up a grade, but I didn't think that would be a good idea at this stage. Beyond first grade, maybe second, moving a child up will cause more problems than it solves. There's too much of a social disconnect. However... I had to decide what to do with him, how to keep the other kids from resenting his intelligence and how to keep that intelligence from going to waste.

Then, I saw another name on the list: Julian Egbert. That's an idea. I looked at my classroom as I had it arranged, the desks forming groups of four. I had planned on making them do more group work this year, but I was having trouble with the number of students because I have twenty-six students which means I either have to have two groups of five or one group of two. Julian was borderline special ed and his parents were ready to throw up their hands at his lack of progress. I couldn't understand why he kept getting passed along, but that's not my call. Still, Timothy might see it as a punishment for being smart. I didn't want that. I just had to think of a good explanation.

I pushed the two desks together.

_August 20, 1985_

"Timothy, I'm glad you're here early. Could I speak to you and your mother for a moment please?" I asked as a woman walked in with her son.

"Certainly, Miss Gifford. What is it?"

Timothy looked up at me shyly and then looked over at his name tag, sitting up on one of the two desks.

"Ith that my theat?" he asked, with a slight lisp. He's missing his front teeth.

"Yes, dear. That's what I want to talk about." I kept my gaze shifting between mother and son, hoping for understanding. "You see, I have another student who will be needing extra help during the year. I was hoping that, you , Timothy, might be willing to work with him."

"Julian?" he asked, a little wary.

"Yes. Julian Egbert. He's a little slow at reading (_and everything else_, I added silently), and I want to get him up to the level. Would you help me do that?"

Timothy looked at me for a long moment. Then, he looked at his mother. "Mom?"

She smiled. "Do you _want_ to, Tim?"

He looked back at the desks. "Why are the dethkth together?"

"We'll be working in groups this year."

"Groupth? Like a team?"

"Yes. Only not for winners. Just so that everyone can learn together."

"Cool. I want to, Mom," he said, looking to his mother for permission. "Can I?"

"Of course, Tim. Why don't you go and unpack your stuff?"

"Okay!" He ran to the desk and began to carefully lay out his crayon box, his pencils and all his other school supplies.

"I don't want Tim getting behind because he's helping another child," his mother said in a low voice.

"He won't. I'll be straight you, Mrs. McGee, Timothy is either going to be bored and wasting his time in my class or he's going to be working hard on his own assignments and not noticing how quickly he finishes because he's helping someone else who happens to be a little slower. He's not going to be challenged by the grade level material, and there's a limit to how advanced the stuff I give him can be."

She sighed. "We were thinking of moving him up, but it never seemed right. He has such a hard time making friends even with his own age group. Older kids would eat him alive."

"Well, I don't think it's a good idea now. I'll do my best to keep him interested... and not overworked."

"Thank you, Miss Gifford."

"No, thank _you_, Mrs. McGee."

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"Julian! You thit with me!" Timothy said excitedly as the little boy came in the room. Julian's mother looked surprised at Timothy's exuberance because Julian was usually a reject, and she knew it.

Julian didn't respond, but slouched over to his seat and slumped down in it. He hated school. It was so obvious.

"Do you have new thtuff thith year, Julian?" Timothy asked. "My mom took me thchool thopping latht week. She even got me a box of 64 crayonth. Thee?" He held them up. I smiled as Julian leaned up, interested in spite of himself. "Thinthe we're thitting together you can uthe them, too!"

Julian gave a tentative smile before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be happy about being there.

"Why do you talk so funny?" he asked sullenly.

Timothy's face fell for a moment. He was too young understand how Julian felt. Julian probably didn't understand it either. I let them work it out because it would be better if they could come to an understanding on their own, rather than having me intervene. Instead, I continued to direct the different students to their seats, all the while keeping an ear out for any trouble from the pair.

"I have a lithp. My front teeth came out and I have thome trouble thaying theth."

"I already lost my front teeth," Julian said scornfully and smiled to show his permanent teeth.

"Cool. My are thlow, Mom thayth. Tho I have to wait for them to come in." Timothy smiled back showing the gaping hole in his mouth where four teeth should have been.

"Why are you sitting with me?" he asked.

"Becauthe we get to work together thith year!" Timothy looked around the room and then leaned forward. "Can I tell you a thecret?"

"Sure." Julian leaned forward as well.

"I've never had a friend before. No one liketh working with me."

That caught in my heart. He said it so matter-of-factly.

"Huh." Julian leaned back in his seat. "Me neither."

"Could _we_ be friendth?" Timothy asked.

"Sure." Julian shrugged.

Well, it was a promising beginning, but not indicative of a smooth road.

_October 5, 1985_

"This is stupid! I don't _want_ to do it!" Julian shouted. Timothy sat in shock as the boy stood up and stomped out of the room.

I had to follow Julian, but I stopped at Timothy's desk. "What happened, Timothy?"

"I don't know, Mith Gifford," he said. His lisp was fading as his front teeth returned, but it wasn't quite gone yet. "We were jutht coloring the reading page. He got mad."

"Okay." I walked out into the hall and found Julian sitting below the hooks for the coats and backpacks, kicking his feet against the little step. "Julian? What's wrong?"

"I don't get it!" he said. "I don't know what it says!"

"Sometimes, it takes awhile to understand the words, Julian."

"No sir! Tim gets it! He _always_ gets it. He's always done before I even know what we're supposed to do!"

A small voice spoke from behind me. "I'm thorry, Julian. I can't help it. Do you hate me now?"

Julian looked at Timothy. "Why do you get it and I don't?"

Timothy shrugged. "I don't know. I jutht do."

I asked Julian, "Would you rather be in a different group, Julian? We can move the desks around."

Timothy looked stricken at the thought of losing his only friend, but he didn't say anything.

Julian looked at Timothy and then at me, then at Timothy again. "Nuh-uh. Tim's my friend. I just got mad."

"Okay. Why don't we go back in the room?"

"Okay." The boys followed me back inside, and I hoped that this would be the end of it.

_February 12, 1986_

"The first American flag had, um, only thirteen stars on it for the..." Julian hesitated and looked up from his report. Timothy was sitting at his desk mouthing the words. "...thirteen original colonies. It still has thirteen red and white stripes for the colonies and now, there are fifty stars, one for each state in the United States of America." Julian put down his report and held up a piece of paper, colored to be the first flag. "This is the first flag, sewed by Betsy Ross." He put down the paper and then, he pointed to the flag hanging at the back of the room. "We see our flag every morning when we say the... Pledge of... Allegiance. And that is the story of the American flag. Thank you." He looked at Timothy and grinned as the room burst into applause. Of course, everyone got applause, but there was no doubt that Julian deserved the hand this time... he and Timothy had worked on that report for weeks. Even with his new sister taking up time, Timothy had made sure that Julian was ready.

"Thank you, Julian. That was wonderful. You can sit down now." He nodded and ran to his seat. Timothy held out his hand and gave him a high five.

"Okay, that was a great bunch of reports. I'm very pleased with how you all did. Now, I want to tell you that next month we'll be having the Iowa Basics tests. I'll be sending home a notice with you today, and you'll be reminded of it in the next couple of weeks. The tests will be on March 8 and 9." As I scanned the room, the typical groans emerged from everyone's lips. I was surprised to see Timothy looking pale. Julian, on the other hand, looked completely at ease. It was a strange reversal. I didn't think any more of it at the time, but handed out the notices.

"Next week, we're going to start learning the states. So, you can look over them this weekend. Ask your parents if you have a map of America," I said as I handed out the papers. Then, the bell rang and everyone ran out the door. "Walk! Walk!" I said uselessly behind them.

_March 8_-_9, 1986_

The desks had to be in rows today, and I hated how impersonal it made the classroom look. However, at least it was only for two days. Then, the room would be back to its normal chaotic state.

"Miss Gifford!"

I turned from my contemplation. "What is it, Julian?"

"Something's wrong with Tim. He won't come in."

"Where is he?"

"Hiding in the coats," Julian said and grabbed my hand. The Iowa Basics would be starting today, but there were a few minutes left before the bell. I allowed myself to be dragged out into the hallway. Sure enough, a pair of feet extended out from the row of coats hanging on the hooks.

"Timothy?"

I heard a loud sniffle and a muffled sob.

"Timothy, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

The coats moved in what I guessed was a negative motion.

"What is it? Will you come out of the coats, please?"

"I'm scared," came the muffled voice.

"Scared of what? Have the kids been teasing you again?" Julian and Timothy always played together on the playground, but some of the older kids were mean and teased the two of them.

"No."

"Then, what?"

"He's scared of the tests," Julian said.

"Oh. Timothy, they're nothing to be scared of. It's just to see how you're doing. They aren't your grades."

A fresh burst of sobbing emerged from the coats. "I'm too stupid to take the tests!"

"No, you're not, Timothy. No one is too stupid to take the tests. Besides, you've had very good grades all year long."

"I can't take tests. I'm stupid!"

Julian sat down beside Timothy and dove into the coats. I heard his muffled voice say, "You're not stupid, Tim. I'm the dummy, remember?"

"No, you're not. You got good grades last time. You showed me. A's and S's."

"So did you. Perfect E's all the way down."

"Those weren't...tests, though." He drew his feet up from the floor and they too disappeared behind the coats. "I _can't_. I'm too dumb! I'll just mess up!"

I looked at the coats, hiding what I imagined was the panicked, tear-stained face of the brightest student in my class. He was smaller than the other kids, although to judge by his parents, he'd shoot up like a weed in a few years. Right now, though, it was all I could do not to give him a big hug and tell him it would be okay, inappropriate as that behavior would be.

"You're not too dumb, Timothy."

"Yeah. Besides, if _I_ can get an A, I'm sure you can get an E, no problem. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't, right, Miss Gifford?"

I wanted to hedge. If he does poorly, it would reflect on the district's perceptions of his ability, as silly as that might be. However, it would do no good to bring that up.

"No, Timothy. This is just something that they do to see how everyone is doing. It won't go on your report card. You just need to do your best. That's all."

Still sniffling, Timothy finally emerged, pale and shaking with anxiety.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, I am." I stood up and extended my hand. "Come on. Let's go into the room."

"Okay." Timothy came into the room and stopped as he saw the desks in the intimidating rows. Fresh tears trickled down his cheeks. There were a few other students in the reading corner, but otherwise, the room was empty.

"You sit right here, Timothy. Julian will be next to you," I said, thanking the alphabet gods that the rows ended up that way. I made a mental note to talk to his parents about Timothy's fright. This was not just normal nerves. Timothy, usually so quietly confident at every subject in school, had convinced himself that he was too stupid to take a test about things he had probably known since first grade.

As I gave the instructions for taking the test, I kept an eye on Timothy. He was continually looking to Julian for reassurance. I actually had to stop by his desk once the test had started to tell him to only look at his own test.

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Timothy came in the next day, still trembling, but not crying this time. He was not happy about taking the tests. Thankfully, they only lasted half the day. After that, I had the students help me put the desks back in place. There was a lot of chaos while we did so, but it was as much a relief for me as for them to have the time to relax. Then, we went to the corner to do reading time. We had agreed on a book called _Jonathan Livingston Seagull_. It was a deep philosophical book that none of them understood, but they all liked the idea of Jonathan learning how to fly and going to heaven because he was such a good flyer. We were just at the end of it, and I figured that it would be a nice reward for them to finish the story. So I extended reading time. It was therapeutic for me as well, I confess.

"... 'Why is it,' Jonathan puzzled, 'that the hardest thing in the world is to convince a bird that he is free, and that he can prove it for himself if he'd just spend a little time practicing? Why should that be so hard?'" I paused and looked at my class. A couple of them were leaning on pillows, almost asleep. Most were listening, but none so avidly as Timothy sitting at the back of the group.

"'Poor Fletch. Don't believe what your eyes are telling you. All they show is limitation. Look with your understanding, find out what you already know, and you'll see the way to fly.'" Timothy's eyes shone as he listened. I continued to read. This was a story as much for teachers as it was for learners.

"...No limits, Jonathan? he thought, and he smiled. His race to learn had begun." I closed the book and a deep, contented sigh came from the back of the group. I smiled and put the book back on the shelf. "That's the end. We'll choose another book tomorrow. Now, everyone back to your seats."

After school was over, Timothy stopped at my desk. "Miss Gifford?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"What does that story mean?"

"What do you _think_ it means, Timothy?"

"That we can do anything, if we believe we can?"

"That's a good start. A book like that doesn't have just one meaning. There are lots of them."

He wrinkled his forehead. "Doesn't a story just mean what it means?"

"Sometimes, but other times, there are more meanings that you can find. That's what makes a book fun to read, if you can find a different meaning whenever you read it."

"You like that book?"

"Very much. It's one of my favorites."

"I like it, too." Timothy smiled, his test anxiety forgotten and ran out the door.

_April 4, 1986_

I came into my classroom during lunch and was surprised to see Timothy and Julian sitting there, crying.

"Boys, what's going on?"

"I'm moving away, Miss Gifford!" Timothy cried. "Mom told me yesterday that we're moving at the end of the year! Dad got a new job and he starts in two months!"

"He can't leave, Miss Gifford! He's my friend," Julian protested.

"Oh, I'm sorry." I couldn't help but think how awful this would be for the two of them. Julian was almost up to grade level, he had a friend, and Timothy had his first real friend, only to be separated. "You'll have to make sure that you get each other's addresses so that you can write letters. Then, you can still be friends."

"Can we? Even if we're ten states from each other?" Timothy asked.

"Of course. Friendships don't end just because you move. You're friends as long as you want to be."

"Always," Julian said. "We'll always be friends."

"Right. Shake on it," Tim said, holding out his hand. They clasped each other's wrists and then gave each other five above and below with their other hands. It was a silly little kid ritual, but nice to see.

_May 30, 1986 - Last Day of School_

"Okay, class. Have a wonderful summer. It's been great having you all here with me." On cue the bell rang. "Bye!"

"Bye, Miss Gifford!" There was another rush... my last rush of the year.

"Walk! Walk!" I shouted after them, knowing that would do no good.

"Miss Gifford?" A small hand tugged at my arm.

"Yes, Timothy?"

"I..." He looked over at Julian who nodded fiercely. "..._we_ wanted to say thanks for being our teacher and for making us friends."

I could barely keep the tears back. "Oh, you don't have to thank me, boys. You made yourselves friends."

Timothy shook his head firmly. "No. You made us sit together. We wouldn't have been friends if you didn't. So... uh..." He looked over at Julian again, who again nodded. "...we wanted to make you a part of our club."

"Your club?"

"Yeah," Julian said. "We were gonna make it only for boys, but since there were only us two in it, we figured it didn't matter if we made you an...hon..." he stumbled over the syllables. "...hon...or...ary member."

"I'd be honored," I said smiling.

"Then, you have to learn the secret handshake," Timothy said solemnly and stuck out his hand. I did the same and he clasped my wrist. Well, he _tried_ to clasp my wrist. His fingers barely reached halfway. Then, he slowly, showing me the steps, brought his other hand above and gave me five. Then, he moved his hand below and gave me five again. "That's it. That way, if we get really grown up and we don't remember what we look like anymore, we can still know who we are."

"I'll remember it," I said seriously. "What's the name of the club?"

"QED," Tim said. "I found it in a book. It's in another language with weird words."

"Yeah. We both practiced them until we could say them right. _Quod erat demonstrandum. _Right?"

"Yep. That's it, but we usually just call it QED because it's a lot shorter."

I shook my head in amusement. "I'll remember it."

"Good. Now you're an honorary member and everything. That means you get a button," Julian said. He fished in his bag and brought out a button that read, of course, _QED_. "There, Miss Gifford. Welcome to the club!"

"Thank you, Julian. Thank you, Timothy. Have a good summer."

"We will. Bye!" The two boys ran out the door and parted ways, Timothy for a new state and Julian for his first summer of no extra schooling. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I thought of those two kids. They had made my year and I don't think they had the slightest idea of how much they meant to me.

_June 1, 2007_

Now, back in the present, I open the drawer of my desk and pull out a faded button. The _QED_ is still there. I wonder whatever happened to Timothy. I saw Julian off and on after third grade. He came to visit me and still calls me his favorite teacher, even after twenty years, but I never did see Timothy again. Julian would tell me about him, but, as so often happens, the two of them lost contact over the years.

"_Quod erat demonstrandum_."

"That which has been demonstrated."

I look up at the voice and see a tall, good-looking young man standing in my doorway.

"Hi, Miss Gifford. Do you remember me?"

He holds out his hand. Hardly daring to think it, I stand up and reach out to take his hand. He clasps my wrist, easily encircling my forearm with his large hands. Then, I fall back into the past as I give him five above and below our clasped hands. I may have to crane my neck to see his face, but I see only the little boy I taught so many years ago.

"Timothy McGee. I can't believe it."

"I can't believe you're still here."

"I'm getting old, but this is my place. What have you been doing in the last twenty years?"

He smiles and pulls a small wrapped present out of his bag. He hands it to me while he answers. "Let's see. I went to college, grad school. Then, I attended FLETC and joined NCIS in Washington, D.C. I'm a Special Agent."

"Really. I would never have guessed that. What is this?"

"Just a memory... Iowa Basics." He smiles again.

"You have turned into a very handsome young man. If I were only a few years younger." I chuckle softly. "I never did forget you two boys, you know."

"I never forgot you... or Julian. I looked him up last year." His phone rings. "Oops. Sorry."

I wave my hand. It's the new generation. Cell phones, I-Pods.

"Yes, Boss? Okay. I'm on my way." He hangs up and looks at me regretfully. "I'm sorry, Miss Gifford. I have to go. Duty calls."

"Don't worry. I'm just glad to see you again. Send me a letter... or even an email. I'm pretty good with it now."

He laughs. "I will. Thanks, Miss Gifford. For everything."

Then, he's gone. I watch him run out of the room and down the hallway before I remember the gift he gave me. I open it and feel tears in my eyes.

_Jonathan Livingston Seagull_. He really did remember. I opened the book and noticed a marker on the last page. I look at it and can hardly read the words.

"...Fletcher Seagull suddenly saw them all as they really were, just for a moment, and he more than liked, he loved what he saw. No limits, Jonathan? he thought, and he smiled. His race to learn had begun."

Beneath those words, Timothy had written. _Thanks for starting the race, for seeing me. Timothy McGee._

That's what makes all this worth it.


End file.
